


#3 - Grab the Moment

by angelsandbrowncoats



Series: Eurovision 2017 Fanfic Challenge [41]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Non-Sexual Submission, Pre-Relationship, Set in early season 2, honestly this one was my favorite to write in probably the entire challenge, that feudal lord/handmaiden dynamic i was talking about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 14:52:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11061291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsandbrowncoats/pseuds/angelsandbrowncoats
Summary: Rather than trust Butch with the safety of his mother, Oswald Cobblepot decides to enlist the help of someone Galavan would never suspect to rescue her. He decides Edward Nygma, the strange forensic scientist he met one time, would be the perfect candidate... but perhaps Ed is the one who needs Oswald more, in the end.





	#3 - Grab the Moment

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, _finally_ I wrote a Nygmobblepot story that is not about reconciliation.
> 
> This is hands down my favorite dynamic for Ed and Oswald, although it definitely works better set in the earlier days of the show.

**GCPD Headquarters, 11:37 p.m.**

Point One: Approximately twenty minutes remained before the chemical would reach peak saturation in the pig's corpse and reveal whether or not it was the cause of death.

Point Two: There were no other forensics staff on duty, and from the sound of it, few cops left either.

Point Three: His other self was standing over his shoulder, commenting on his every action.

Point Four: His last semblance of control was slipping. He might fall at any moment and surrender power to the aforementioned other self.

"So now you're trying to organize your thoughts in an efficient manner. You're such a dork."

"Shut up. I'm busy."

"Busy? Staring at a pig carcass? If you were busy, I wouldn't be here."

"That's not true."

"Oh, but it is. I'm here... because you're bored."

"You're here because I'm insecure and self-sabotaging."

"You wound me. And here I thought you enjoyed my company."

"What could I have ever said to give you that impression? I despise you."

"Excuse me?"

Ed whipped around, nearly tripping over his own feet at the unfamiliar voice.

"Aw, look at you. Pathetic."

He ignored his other self, examining the newcomer. The man was considerably shorter than himself, but his presence was significantly larger than Ed's. This was a man who commanded - attention, the room, underlings, it hardly mattered. Ed gulped, recognizing him.

The Penguin.

And he was glaring. His eyes were narrowed at Ed, knuckles white as they gripped his cane.

"Sorry?"

"You said you despise me. Considering that we have spoken but once, I feel a certain amount of offense."

Ed inhaled sharply. The Penguin remembered that brief interaction?

"My apologies, Mr. Penguin. I wasn't speaking to - or about - you."

The Penguin glanced around the room, an eyebrow quirked to add to his sarcasm as he pointed out the obvious, "You were, instead, speaking to one of the other fine fellows in here?"

Ed swallowed again. No one knew about his other self. No one.

"That's what you think," the voice whispered in his head. He shook his head to clear it, "I was... talking to myself," his voice dropped on the last part, embarrassment rendering him almost inaudible. Almost.

"Yourself? Well that is... fascinating. And your colleagues are, I presume, unaware of your... tendencies?"

"They would think I'm unstable," he bit out, "I know you and Jim Gordon have an understanding, but _please_ don't tell him. I may suffer from auditory hallucinations, or have another 'self' who antagonizes me, but I'm not crazy. I have proof, but they wouldn't listen. No one ever listens."

"I'm not here to kill you," The Penguin replies, like that answers anything. Ed's eyebrows raise in question, brain unable to form an appropriate response.

The Penguin sighs in exasperation, "You're right. No one listens. If I told anyone, you'd end up in Arkham, and I can see from here that you wouldn't survive it. I need you alive, for now at least, so I will keep your secret. Perhaps I could even help you, as payment for what I want you to do."

"You need me for something?" he hated how excited he sounded. The Penguin was a known criminal. Interesting, sure, but criminal all the same.

"I wouldn't be here at this time of night if I didn't," he said slowly, as if speaking with a child. The Penguin hobbled (now there was a word Ed didn't use everyday) to a chair placed against the wall and sat down hard.

"Here's how it's going to be. I'm going to give you some information. Should you repeat this information to _anyone_ ," he paused, "Including out loud to yourself, since someone might overhear, I promise you this: you will die _painfully_. You will die screaming, begging for your life to end. Am I being clear?"

Ed couldn't find his voice, his other self laughing at the threat and the image it produced in his mind.

The Penguin tilted his head, eyes narrowing once more, "I _said_ , 'Am I being clear?'"

He nodded furiously, searching for words and coming up blank.

"Good. Next, you will be given instructions. If you choose not to comply, you will not die, but I cannot promise you will not lose something dear to you, like a hand," here the Penguin paused, perhaps for breath, perhaps for effect, "If you _do_ comply, and you fail, you will likely die, although not by my hands. Finally, if you comply and _succeed_ , you will be rewarded."

Finally Ed found something to latch onto, "Presumably your task is both dangerous and illegal, so what reward do you think could sway me?"

"I thought I might leave that up to you. As I mentioned earlier, I might be able to help you with your... imaginary friend. Or, if you prefer, money is always an option. What do _you_ want, Edward Nygma?"

"Now that is a good question," his other self cackles. What does he want? Recognition. Friendship. Order. Appreciation. Praise.

"Control," he says, almost without thinking. The Penguin blinks at him, "You mean power?"

"No. I mean, over myself. I can't feel happiness, or confidence, or security. Not with him whispering in my ear all the time. There's nothing to be done about _him_ , not that I can do, not from therapy. I... I want a path to follow. A calling. Something, someone, to keep me focused. And... to be needed," it hurts him to say out loud, and _he_ is doubled over in laughter now, "I'm smart, I know I am, and I want other people to know it too. I got this job to help the city, because maybe... maybe _then_ I would be useful. Less of a waste of air. But it's hardly any different..."

There's no physical pain here, but the physical stopped truly hurting a long time ago. It's the emotional pain, the knowledge that no matter who he is or what he does, he will still be a worthless annoyance, the mosquito of human beings, that makes him cry at night.

The Penguin is staring at him openly now, and his other self reminds him that he managed to turn a threat from a mob boss into a pity party.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, curling in on himself in an attempt to be smaller. He briefly envies the pig carcass lying on his table. It knew nothing of soul-crippling shame and embarrassment, and it probably never had.

"You... want to _be_ controlled?" Penguin asks slowly, confusion tinging his words, "Given directions to follow and praise for your accomplishments?"

Edward nodded, wishing the Penguin could just jump to the part where he laughed and called him a freak.

"Huh. So like... a lifetime Personal Assistant?"

Ed blinked. He'd bared his soul few enough times, but he'd never gotten a response like that.

"You know, I could use someone like you," Penguin was nodding in thought, "Assuming you're telling the truth. There's not much more an employer can ask for in employees. And you're inside the GCPD. For now, at least. That's an asset."

Where was he going with this?

"Well, I think that's settled, then. Consider my instructions a test run. If you are successful, I will reward you however I see fit, and then I shall give you further direction. You will be an informant and an expert. You will do whatever I tell you, and your efforts will be explicitly appreciated. Does that suit you?"

Edward gaped at him, "You mean you don't think I'm odd? Annoying? Stupid? A... a freak?"

The Penguin shook his head, "You're eccentric, sure, but far less unsettling than I am. And your eccentricities and insecurities make you all the more trustworthy. If you desire order, then you are a man of loyalty. Now do we have an agreement?"

"Yes," Ed nodded to emphasize his point.

"And if I support, guide, and control you, you will never betray me?"

"Never."

"Wonderful. In that case, I will get into the information phase of our... chat. Let me be blunt: Theo Galavan is a monster. He orchestrated the Maniax in order to become this city's hero. His motives are irrelevant. What _is_ relevant is that, in order to control _me_ , he has kidnapped my mother and is holding her prisoner in an unknown location. I have asked Butch, my brainwashed bodyguard, to look into the situation. However, I do not trust his subtlety and I cannot take risks with my mother's safety. That is why I want you, an 'uninvolved third party' to find her. If you can, rescue her. If not, come to my club and give me her location. Do not reveal this information to _anyone_ at any time. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Ed repeated. A light, fuzzy feeling was building in his chest. He knew this feeling - it was the one that accompanied being trusted with something important. Best of all, it warded off his other self. The mocking voice was nowhere to be found.

"Don't fail me, Edward," the Penguin warned.

"I won't, I promise."

~ ~ ~

His other self hadn't been back since his conversation with the Penguin, and Ed was ebullient. The past two and half days he had felt somewhere between calm and thrilled. The danger of his task did not escape him, only adding to the excitement.

After subtle research, Ed had pinpointed a location that he hypothesized to contain the Penguin's mother. He planned to go that night, so focused that he completely missed Kristen Kringle's hints that her affections had, at last, turned towards him when he spoke with her during lunch.

When nightfall came, Ed carefully selected his wardrobe. He donned a hat and a cheap mask - no reason to display his identity, should he be seen. This was joined by a black trench coat which he'd bought from a secondhand store for the novelty of owning a trench coat but had never had opportunity to use. He filled the pockets with potentially useful items - his lock picks, a Swiss Army knife, some flash bombs and smoke bombs he'd made for fun once, and a few chemicals which might be useful should someone attack him. He thought a gun might be nice, but he didn't own one and wasn't entirely sure how to go about getting one without a permit. The finishing touches were a pair of green latex gloves (to protect from the chemicals and avoid leaving fingerprints) and some sturdy hiking boots.

Feeling prepared, Ed made his way to the location he'd identified, using three separate taxis to avoid leaving obvious trails. He even made stops between each one in case he was being watched, although since he hadn't _done_ anything yet, he doubted it.

When at last he reached his destination, Ed took a deep breath. He was nervous. Scared even.

" _Edwaaard_ ," the other voice drawled next to his ear, causing him to jump.

"Getting cold feet? Is little Eddie afraid of the dark?"

"Shut up!" he hissed, fingers wrapping around his forearm, nails pressing down hard. The voice stopped and he took another breath, steadying. Time to bury his fears. If he did this...

If he did this, then the Penguin had sworn to support him. Reign him in when he lost control. Be a light in the darkness, if he wanted to get metaphorical. For the first time in his life he would _matter_ to someone. Someone might ask him how his day went and look for him if he disappeared. Someone might grieve for him if he died. No voice was going to stop him from getting that.

He crept to the back door of the building, quickly and quietly picking the lock and slipping inside. From the shadows, he surveyed the room. There was the cell with the Penguin's mother, two guards immediately on it. Another two lounged nearby, at the main door, and all four appeared to be more invested in some card game than in their duties. The Penguin's mother was muttering to herself, sometimes to the guards, in an inane manner that Ed was familiar with on a personal level.

His next move needed to be well-planned. One wrong move could result in his or, worse, Penguin's mother's death. He slipped back out and moved to the front of the building, taking out a few of the chemicals he had brought. The right mixture would result in an explosion that was sure to bring the guards running, as well as toxic fumes that they would hopefully inhale. If they returned before he was done, a flash or smoke bomb (or both, he supposed) could cover their tracks long enough to escape.

Running to the back door, calculating his time to combustion at about fourteen seconds, Ed had just made his way back inside when the mixture exploded. Confused shouts from the guards as they stumbled to their feet (drunk?) and grabbed their weapons to investigate met Ed and he had to wait only three seconds to leave the shadows.

"Who are you?" the woman asked when she noticed him. He smiled nervously, "I'm Ed. A friend."

He knelt before the cell door, forcing his nerves down to keep his hands steady as he rushed to pick the large iron lock. As the lock turned and the door swung open, he heard the sounds of voices at the main door. They seemed in pain - probably suffering from eye irritation due to chemical exposure.

"Hurry," he held out a hand to her, which she took daintily.

"Hey!"

He turned to see one of the guards pointing straight at him, reaching for a gun.

"Cover your eyes and duck," he whispered, doing so himself as he threw a flash bomb in the direction of the guards. He could see light through his eyelids, but when he opened them his vision seemed fine. The guards would only be blinded for so long, so he followed it up with a smoke bomb, leading the Penguin's mother to the back door. It stood open for them, waiting, and they were outside in a moment.

He managed to hail a cab almost immediately upon reaching a main road, thankful for his luck. The woman was beside herself as she sat next to him, going on about inhospitable people and her beloved son. Ed gave a sickly smile as she waxed poetic about the Penguin. Ironic, he thought, that of the crime lord and the man in law enforcement it was the former who came from a loving home.

At long last, they reached the Penguin's club. Clearly his mother had been there before, as she exclaimed in joy at the sight. He ushered her inside, looking around for the first time himself, only to realize everyone was staring at him. Them.

The Penguin had stood, signaling the music to halt, which drew attention to their entrance.

"Mother?" he breathed, almost in disbelief.

"Oh, Oswald, you would not believe what has happened to your poor mother. You will stop that horrible man, no?"

"Of course, Mother," the Penguin smiled, before turning to his patrons, "I'm terribly sorry, but we're closing early. Personal reasons. You understand."

The customers cleared out in minutes, along with the musician, and Ed wondered if he was meant to stay or leave.

His question was soon answered when the Penguin laid a hand on his arm, "Ed, my friend, you have no idea what this means to me. You have proven yourself most loyal. You will be rewarded handsomely."

"Thank you," Ed answered, lowering his head. An odd urge bubbled up in his mind and he reacted to it in the moment. He dropped to his knees, the image of submission, and said, "Some people have dubbed you King of Gotham. Whether you hold that title or not, I want you to be my king, my liege lord."

The Penguin's eyes widened, "Are- are you performing homage to me?"

"If you'll permit it."

The Penguin paused, trying to overcome his shock. When Ed glanced up at him, worry creasing his forehead, Oswald placed a hand on his cheek, "I will."

He had not expected Ed to want things to go so formally, but he was hardly disappointed. The idea of someone pledging himself to Oswald, and _only_ Oswald was an attractive one. Arousing, almost, although he'd have time for that when he _wasn't_ being joyously reunited with his mother, he reminded himself.

"You have done well, Edward. I am most pleased with you. Rise and be seated. We will discuss your new place in my empire shortly."

Ed did as he was told, waiting quietly at the bar while the Penguin led his mother away, not even trying to eavesdrop like he normally would. He wouldn't do that to his King. It would be a breach of trust.

After an unknown amount of time had passed, the Penguin returned alone.

"If my mother's account is correct, you are a very bold man," he said quietly, taking the seat beside Ed. Ed said nothing.

"How are you? Have you been hearing _him_?"

Ed inhaled sharply, "Just once, right before I initiated my plan. He's been leaving me alone, mostly."

"That's good. Do you think this task allowed you to loosen up a bit? Be yourself, or at least be comfortable?"

"...yes," Ed answered after some consideration, fingers tapping a nervous pattern on the bar.

"Something you do not feel when at the GCPD?"

"Yes," that he knew for certain.

There was a pause as Oswald organized his next question, "How do you feel about murder?"

Ed tensed, fingers frozen in mid-tap. Oswald frowned. Ed's expression was... wrong. He didn't look scared like he was afraid Oswald would ask him to kill when he wasn't comfortable with it, he looked scared like... like he'd been caught.

"Edward? Have... _have_ you murdered someone before?"

Ed said nothing.

"Edward, you performed homage to me less than an hour ago. Answer me when I ask you something."

"Yes," the word was forced and scratchy, barely there.

"Who?"

"Officer Dougherty. He dated Kristen Kringle. He abused her. He laughed at me when I confronted him about it, so I stabbed him."

Oswald took this information in, vaguely impressed. Not that it was anything great by a crime lord's standards, but Ed lived, breathed, and bled _nerd_. The scrap of steel in his voice as he admitted to his crimes, however, suggested real potential.

"I want you to find one of Galavan's men. Any of them will do. I want you to bring them to me, and I want you to kill them with me. I'll teach you all the best methods."

Ed looked at him, "You really want that?"

"You have promise, my friend, and I'd like to assess how much molding you'll need to be the perfect right hand. Butch amuses me, but I still don't like him."

"You want me as your right hand?"

"Eventually, if you continue to impress, as I've no doubt you will."

"Thank you."

"You're adopting this lifestyle well. I think you may have found your calling. However," Edward held his breath, fearing the end of that sentence, "there are a few things to address. First, the way you dress. I expect you to dress well, like someone who deserves a place at my side. Second, I want you to wear something that represents me - a symbol, a color, something like a coat of arms. If you are my vassal, my subject, then you ought to show it. Now, as we don't want that broadcast to the general public _too_ soon, I'm willing to settle for something small, like a ring, or a tie, or even socks if you're into that sort of thing."

"Okay," Ed agreed, mentally rummaging through his closet to determine if he would need to go shopping.

"If you cannot dress appropriately _financially_ , my funds are at your disposal."

Ed could think of nothing to say except another, "Thank you."

"And lastly, I want you to tell me about every instance of antagonization in your life, whether it be your other self or someone else entirely," Oswald placed two fingers on one side of Ed's jaw and his thumb on the other, holding his head in place to ensure eye contact, "You are mine, now, and I care for what is mine. If my silver is tarnished, I polish it. I do not want it to remain tarnished. If something, or someone, is bothering you, I want you to tell me so that I can fix it. I will be displeased if you hold back. Am I being clear?"

"Crystal," and Ed smiled, wide and bright, because it had finally all clicked into place. He was no longer lost. He was no longer alone. He was the Penguin's. Oswald's. And Oswald wouldn't let anything happen to him. Oswald wouldn't let him fall.


End file.
